Handsome
by DittyWrites
Summary: Their forced entry into Task Force X was not the first time Waylon Jones had encountered Harleen Quinzel. A small oneshot of a previous meeting the pair shared but only one can recall.


"We're all ugly on the inside! We all are!" Harley argued loudly, glaring at Captain Boomerang as he called her out on her attitude, "Except him," she contradicted herself, "he's ugly on the outside."

Gesturing with her head, she indicated Waylon in his seated position, causing the rest of the squad to turn and face him.

Bracing himself against the stares, he faced her directly, "Not me shorty," he argued gently and bringing his hands up to his head, he pulled back his hood to reveal his face to each of them, "I'm beautiful!"

Placing her forearms on the bar, Harley leaned into them and gave him a genuine smile, "Yeah you are." Her eyes were filled with mischief as she nodded to confirm his statement.

Keeping her gaze with his own, she winked slightly at him before turning her attention back to the bickering Deadshot and Boomerang as they continued their argument over what their next step was going to be.

As soon as she was fully distracted by the conversation, Waylon felt his smile fall as a small frown took its place.

Harley Quinn.

The clown princess of crime.

The queen of Gotham.

Waylon was Gotham born-and-bred and these titles meant absolutely nothing to him. His city was owned by the Bat. The clown could try and convince himself of his own importance but everyone knew that the Bat was the true king. No one else had been strong enough to force him to flee Gotham.

His encounters with the Joker had been few and far between. He had worked as muscle for one or two well-paid jobs which required someone with his particular skill set to accomplish but like any sane person he liked to avoid the Joker whenever possible. No one who ever worked with the clown lasted too long in his presence and Waylon had learned the hard way in life that sometimes it was better to cut and run. He had no real time for the Joker.

Harley Quinn was a different matter.

With her, he had a little history.

x-x-x-x-x

 _The chains which bound his hands and forearms to the upright gurney were biting into his flesh as they rubbed roughly against the exposed skin. The Bat had caught him at the last possible second of his escape from Gotham and he found himself being knocked unconscious and sent to Arkham for the second time._

 _He was not insane but these people did not know what else to do with him. So they threw him in here like a wild animal. Chained up and muzzled like a dog._

 _And they wondered why he hated them._

 _Turning to the guard by his side, he snarled as loudly as possible to protest his undignified position. At the noise, the head guard who was holding the chain which was being used to restrain his neck tutted sarcastically and tightened his grip in response._

 _Instantly, Waylon could feel the harsh chain begin to slightly cut off his air supply and he instinctively strained against it. A few seconds ticked by and, as the pressure did not let up, he started to react more violently as he struggled to take in an appropriate amount of air. However, his position limited his ability to move and he was essentially trapped._

 _His eyes began to water as he fought the brutality and his growing light-headedness caused white spots to dance in his vision. He was certain he was going to pass out until-_

 _"HEY!" A loud feminine voice called out from across the hallway, "WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?"_

 _Waylon felt the instant loosening of the restraints around his neck and he felt mildly dizzy as the air suddenly rushed freely back into his lungs. He could smell a woman nearby but her scent was unfamiliar. Shaking his head to force his vision to clear fully, he followed the scent to see who had intervened on his behalf._

 _A blonde doctor stood a few feet ahead of his position, her hands placed staunchly on her hips as she squared up against the approaching guard. Her white lab coat was hanging loosely from her frame as she indicated the scene she was witnessing._

 _"Who are you?" The lead guard who had been choking him, Boyle was his name, asked in a nasty tone, as he looked the attractive woman up and down._

 _"Dr. Harleen Quinzel." The blonde answered stiffly as she crossed her arms across her chest, disturbing the gaze of Boyle as he continued to stare unashamed as her._

 _He shrugged, "Well Doc, we're just escorting Killer Croc here back to his cell. You got a problem with that?"_

 _Narrowing her eyes at him in distaste, she stared him down, "You were choking him. I could hear him gasping from across the hall." Waylon watched as she glanced at him again and he could detect the sympathy which was lacing her expression and tone._

 _"He was resisting." A lie._

 _"That's not what I saw." Her tone was argumentative and Waylon had to admire the brass of this tiny woman to square up against a man like Boyle. A part of him wanted the woman to leave and let him deal with his own business but a larger part was pleased with her reaction at his treatment._

 _Holding up a hand, Boyle pointed a finger in her face in an incredibly rude manner, "Well what you think you saw, Doc, ain't what happened."_

 _Smacking his hand away, Dr Quinzel now openly glared at him, "Want me to take this to a higher authority? We are here to help them. Do not mistreat the patients or i'll have you thrown out of here on your ass." She threatened with venom._

 _From his position, Waylon could see Boyles' hand clench and unclench as he clearly fought off the urge to retaliate and lash out at the stubborn woman._

 _Instinctively wanting to protect the woman who was defending him, Waylon issued a very low threatening growl which could be easily heard through his sides of his mouth restraints._

 _Almost immediately, he felt the guards still around him tense while Dr Quinzel threw him a pleased, thankful smile as he warned the man off._

 _Abandoning Boyle and marching over, Dr Quinzel now stood directly in front of him with no hint of fear on her face as she took in his overall appearance._

 _"Hey handsome," she smiled at him and he could not detect sarcasm or cruelty in her tone, "if this big dumbass brute gives you a hard time you tell me yeah? Just ask for Dr. Quinzel and i'll help you out." She pushed a small lock of blonde hair behind her ears as she adjusted her glasses to look him straight in the eye._

 _Sensing that the offer was legit and, admittedly a little touched at her unexpected display, he gave her a slow nod to show his consent as she glanced over his patient sheet, which had been attached to the side of the gurney._

 _"Excellent. Also, it's nice to meet'cha Waylon Jones. I'll call up another team of guards to escort you to your cell since the current team seems incapable."_

 _Ignoring the hisses of dissent which met her statement, she smiled at him again and if his mouth wasn't fully covered by the brown leather, he would have smiled back._

x-x-x-x-x

His memories of that day were vivid and it hurt him that, in her new state, Harley Quinn didn't remember him.

That much had been clear when they were forced into their first meeting as the newly created Task Force X.

He had been watching her carefully from the corner of his eye as they were reunited and he felt a small spark of hope when her eyes met his but nothing had come of it. They had only met that once in the asylum but he had always remembered the nice woman who had dared to stand up against the brutality of the guards and call for his better treatment.

He had learned of her fate many months after it had occurred and he had yet to encounter her since her transformation into the infamous Harley Quinn. Her many exploits had been paraded across the news and in the papers but he falsely hoped that they had been an exaggeration.

The work the clown had done in twisting her into what she was today had a price and, according to various sources, that price was the loss of some of her past. He had overheard rumours across Gotham that the electroshock treatment she had been subjected to at the hands of her partner had left her with broken memories of her work at the asylum, no doubt an intentional side-effect to increase the clowns influence over her, and it had greatly disappointed him to find that these rumours were true.

Despite the changes, every time he looked at her he could still see the very clear shadow of the woman he remembered.

That day in the asylum he had glimpsed her strength but the softness of her appearance had belied and hidden the inner steel which she had shown in that encounter. However, the softness was now completely gone, stripped back until all that was now left was that unyielding steel and it had become weathered from the constant exposure.

Her scent was different too.

The base was still the same, the subtle almost floral tones still easily detectable to his experienced senses, but they were now cut with an acrid sharpness which was unpleasantly chemical and caused his nose to twitch. The only other time he had detected a similarly unnatural scent was the one possessed by the clown himself.

When they had found her on the abandoned police car after her apparent escape with the Joker, after Deadshot had spared her, he had caught a glimpse of her vulnerability and it seemed wrong in her new body. The wide grin she presented them with was as hollow as could be and as everyone had welcomed her back and started to move on, he had stayed behind to protect the rear of the group from attack.

It was absurd but, as he looked at his team, he felt protective of them.

Being closer to his animalistic side gave him heightened senses and he had spent many years honing them to suit his needs. Aside from an improved sense of smell and ability to survive underwater, he also possessed that unexpected animal instinct which gave him an increased empathy.

He recognised in each of them a sense of loneliness and rejection which appealed to him.

They were all ugly but they were also beautiful in a way.

He took a gulp of his drink as he vaguely watched Harley, the only one here who had known him before he grew to truly love himself, pour another round of shots for those who were seated directly in front of the bar and even from his seated position, he could sense the inner turmoil which was radiating from her in waves.

Maybe it was the Gotham City in them both but something about her sadness echoed his own. Deadshot had it too. The bleak city was like a siren, playing its song to lure those who possessed an inner darkness, both born and created, towards her.

Sighing quietly, he took another quick slug of beer.

He was happy to see Harley again, he just wished she would remember him.


End file.
